I WILL WONDER
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Frank is the property of Peter Morgan. I borrow him for my pleasure and entertainment.
Rufus Sewell created him for the screen and he is one I see and his voice I hear when I write about Frank.
I have given this story an M rating for two four letter words, and the serious adult content.
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The song for this is For the Rest of My Life By Gary Numan
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For the Rest of My Life
Look around. Do you see?
Everything is fading
Everything just fades away.
.
Look around. Do you see?
Everyone looks lonely
But there's only you and me.
.
I will love you,
Miss you,
All of my life.
.
I will need you,
Want you,
All of my life.
.
I will wonder
About you
All of my life.
.
But I have lost you
Lost you,
For the rest of my life.
.
I WILL WONDER
.
Frank watched her covertly.
They had been seeing each other now for two weeks.
Laurence was in Reykjavik with Martha, and Daniel had been away on ' business' when she had come back into his life.
Two weeks since they had met again after thirteen years.
Two weeks and two days to be precise, since she had invited herself into his bed and nothing had been the same since. She had chivvied and bossed him, argued and bickered with him, made him laugh, had fun with him, made him feel good, good about himself.
The best two weeks of his life.
She had nagged and pushed him into returning for an audition that he had run out on, and he had got the part. Trevor Nunn had wanted him, as she had said. He had been rehearsing all this week.
Everything was fine, he thought.
On Wednesday, she had told him she was going home at the weekend, to see her mother. She said she went home to Canterbury once a month.
Thursday, she had been subdued.
Some of the cast had suggested a drink on Friday evening and he had asked her to come. The first time they had been anywhere as a couple.
That day, everything seemed to go wrong.
Lunchtime, she seemed to avoid him.
No, she did avoid him.
And now this evening, she was very quiet.
He watched her in the dim noisy bar that someone had suggested, watched her when he thought she wasn't aware.
Something was wrong.
What was it?
She knew most of the crowd they were with.
Didn't she like them?
She could have said so. She could have said that she didn't want to go. They did not have to go.
She excused herself and when she returned from the 'Ladies', she whispered that she wanted to go home: he could stay if he wanted.
He took her home but she didn't want him to stay. She said she had things to do before going to Canterbury in the morning.
"What time will you get back on Sunday? I'll meet you."
"No. I'll ring you Sunday night, when I get back. "
He walked home; it gave him a chance to think.
He wished he hadn't. He didn't like his thoughts.
When he got home, he switched on the television; nothing on that he could be bothered to watch. He put on a video but he didn't watch it; just sat on his bed brooding, smoking one cigarette after another. He picked up the whiskey bottle once, then put it down.
He had been dumped before. Many times. It had never bothered him much but Sophie was different: they were friends.
Shit!
He reached again for the whiskey bottle on his bedside table.
The weekend dragged on.
Saturday afternoon, he decided to go for a walk and found himself on a bus and finished up knocking on his Gran's door.
She was so delighted to see him that he felt guilty. She asked him to stay to supper.
He told her about his part and rehearsals, making her laugh, mimicking Sir Trevor, quoting Jonathan, and when he slowed down at last, she said," And where's your young lady ? When I was young, Saturday was the night for going out with your boyfriend. "
"She's gone home to Canterbury for the weekend to see her mum."
He got out his ciggies, and fiddled with them, took one out, put it back, then got it out again and lit it.
"I don't know if I'm her boyfriend. I think she's going to dump me."
"That would be a shame. I liked her very much. "
"Yeah."
Gran sat and waited while he smoked his cigarette in silence.
"Can I stay here tonight, Gran?"
"Of course."
He lit another cigarette and smoked most of it.
"The thing is, Gran" he stopped. "The thing is, I don't know what I will do if she does."
And his Gran very wisely said nothing.
On Sunday, as he took her down the pub for lunch, Gran asked "Will you go to see your Mum and Dad before you go back?"
"Oh Gran, all we do is row."
"That doesn't mean that they don't want to see you. They would be very hurt if they knew you came here and didn't call in."
"Oh, OK." he muttered very resignedly.
. . . . . .
He rang her Sunday evening, when he got back. Her answer phone clicked on. "It's me, Soph." he said. "Ring me."
He rang again later and again and again. He knocked the bottle a bit and got through a packet of fags.
He would see her there in the morning.
He went in to rehearsals on Monday.
It had been quite a while since he had gone to rehearsals with a hangover.
He stuck his head around the office door.
"Sophie about?"
"She has gone across to Sir Cameron's. She'll be back before lunch".
They broke for lunch and he was on his way through the vestibule to find her, when he saw Daniel, sitting, waiting for him.
. . . . . .
Daniel had a bit of a head.
He had flown overnight from California and had gone straight to his office.
He was not feeling particularly well disposed towards anyone.
Mrs Thompson, his secretary, had a pile of mail waiting. His phone rang. She answered it and held it out to him.
"Laurence."
"Where have you been, Daniel? I have been trying to get hold of you all week. Left messages on your answer phone. Home and mobile."
"I've been Stateside. Business. Well, I was over in L. A. on business, so I thought I'd have a little break. Why? What is so desperate? How is my lovely Martha?"
"We decided to come home."
"What? Are you two breaking up?"
" No-o! It's just that there was not any work there for either of us. We missed people. Anyway we're back. Got home about six this morning. I've been ringing you since Friday."
" Well, it's good to hear from you. We'll have a get together, all of us."
"Dan," Laurence hesitated." Have you seen anything of Frank? I've been ringing him since Friday as well. Ansaphone was not on then but it was on this morning when I rang.
He paused again.
"Dan, you don't think he's ill again?"
"He doesn't look after himself. You know that, as well as I do. Too many fags, too much booze and not enough to eat. Look Laurence, I'll slip over to his place and see what I can suss out. I'll ring you later. Is it still the same number?"
Daniel rang Mrs. Grady's bell
"Mrs. Grady? Do you remember me? Daniel, Frank's friend? I've been trying to get hold of him. Ansaphone off but no reply. Do you know if he's about?"
"I've heard the phone, but I've not heard him about: not since the TV was on Friday night."
"If you see him, will you ask him to ring me? Or if you are concerned again, will you ring me?"
Daniel returned to his office, and started on his mail. Mrs. Thompson brought in more for his in tray
He picked up the top one. It was Frank's file. He opened it. A copy of a contract from the National Theatre was on top.
He had got it!
Well done Frank!
He glanced down the page. 'Rehearsals to commence... '. They had been in rehearsals for a week.
He grabbed his overcoat again.
"Just going out again, Mrs T."
She sighed exasperatedly.
. . . . . .
"Something wrong, Dan?"
"That's what I want to know. I had Laurence on my back at 7.30 this morning. He's been trying to get hold of you since Friday. You haven't been picking up your messages."
"I 've been away ... "
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sophie leave her office and cross to the outside door. She saw him and though he raised his hand to catch her, she only nodded and did not stop.
"Who's that?"
"Oh, no-one."
"Any way, Laurence has been worried about you. Where have you been?"
Daniel was more than a little annoyed now that he knew Frank was alright.
"I went down to my Gran's."
"Oh, she ok?"
"Yeah."
" Look! Laurence is home! Will you ring him and tell you're OK? They're back for good. We can arrange a get-together, a night out. Um... good to know you got the part. Prestigious, too. The National! Hmm. OK? I've got to get back to work. I've been chasing around after you all morning. Mrs T will murder me. And tell your Mrs Wotsaname ...Grady downstairs, you're OK too. Right! I'm off. I'll ring you.
. . . . . .
The rehearsals went on and on, Trevor was not too pleased with him. He was not concentrating as Trevor so rightly said.
When at last they broke up, the office was closed up.
At home he picked up the messages on the phone. Five messages all from Laurence. Nothing from Sophie.
He didn't ring Laurence.
He rang her. The Ansaphone was off. She must have picked up his messages. The phone rang and rang. He rang every ten minutes. It was ten fifty five, when he gave up.
He sat smoking on the bed.
The house was quiet. He picked up his bottle of whiskey, and then put it back down.
He heard the doorbell ring downstairs in Mrs. Grady's flat, then voices and steps on the stairs. Late visitors for Mrs. Grady; she was usually in bed by now.
There was the softest of taps on the door.
He was not expecting her but there she was.
He opened the door wide and ushered her in with a sarcastic mock bow and a sweep of his hand.
She was in her familiar big coat but she was wearing her glasses and she was not wearing any makeup. He jerked his head to the bed for her to sit down and leaned against the fridge and waited.
She didn't look at him but sat with her head bent.
He waited but when she continued to say nothing, it burst from him, low, fast and harsh.
"You said you'd ring. You didn't. I rang and rang. I left message after fucking message. You didn't answer. I thought I would see you today. But you avoided me. You fucking cut me."
He looked at her; she did not meet his eyes. He went on.
"I rang and rang tonight."
She sat, with her head down, her hair shining copper bright under the single central light.
"If you wanted to dump me, you only had to say." he went on, cold and cutting. "It's been said before. It's easy. Bye Frank. "
The silence went on, almost tangible.
At last, in little more than a whisper, she said, "I'm late."
His lips opened and closed forming "What?", but no sound came out.
At last, he said," How late?"
"Six days."
He hunched one shoulder.
"That's not... very...it could ..."
She still sat there.
In a small voice, she said, "I did a test."
He stared at his feet. The room was swinging around him but he could see quite clearly the stitching on his trainers, the fraying end of one of the laces.
He could barely hear what she was saying,
"It must have been the first time. We used condoms after that."
He said nothing.
"Oh, you needn't let it concern you. It was my stupidity, my responsibility." It was louder now, each syllable enunciated crisply.
His silence continued.
She moved fast, up and to the door, but he was there before her, grabbing her shoulders, holding her to him.
"I didn't want- I couldn't talk to... till I knew what- but I still don't know. I can't think. It's like a rat in my skull, running round and round. "
"What do you want to do?" he whispered.
He leaned against the door, still holding her. He tilted her chin and he saw that she held her eyes wide behind her glasses, blinking to control them; the tears that had washed away the makeup: that would have washed out the lenses she always wore now.
"Soph, Soph, whatever you want to do, whatever you think, I'll be know I'll will. "
Swallowing hard, she nodded several times. She searched for the lock of the door.
"Stay."
She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.
"I've got to go home. I will need to change to go to work in the morning."
"I'll take you home." She made a little protest. "I'm not going to let you cross London on your own at this time of the night. I won't stay, just see you home."
She leaned against him, murmuring into his chest
"Francis, Francis."
He kissed her forehead.
"OK. Soph."
They didn't say much on their way. Something niggled at him. Déjà Vu.
"Will I see you tomorrow?"
"I don't know. Maybe not, I have to think; it might be best if I'm on my own."
They reached her flat. He waited for her to let herself in.
"You will tell me? Let me know?
She put her fingers on his mouth and nodded.
There was that niggle again.
How little she was; she seemed to have got smaller.
Things clicked into place.
She wasn't wearing her heels. For the first time since they had got together, she wasn't wearing her four inch killer heels, or one of her caps. He had noticed her hair shining because she wasn't wearing a cap to hide it. No makeup and her glasses.
Little Sophie Grafton! Six years old again.
Defenceless.
Something ripped in his chest.
"You won't shut me out, Soph?"
. . . . . .
He didn't sleep much that night
She had told him that she would be at the offices at Bedford Square the next day, so he didn't expect to see her.
He went through rehearsals on auto-pilot, so he was surprised when Trevor patted his shoulder and said well done.
He went for a pub lunch with the others. He laughed and joked with them; his mind was elsewhere.
At his bedsit later, he had the television on without seeing it, thinking, but his mind was calmer, no-longer churning.
When he put his head around the door of the office on Wednesday morning, he was told that she had phoned in sick.
He tried ringing her in the lunch time.
No reply but he felt good; everything upbeat.
There was a bright lightness about the day.
The idea of being a father no longer seemed to be so horrifying.
There was something warm, almost joyful about it.
In spite of what she had said, he rang her that evening. He needed to speak to her. To tell her.
The Ansaphone was on again.
He smoked a cigarette, and decided.
It was late when he got to her flat. She let him in without speaking: she was wearing Andy Pandy pyjamas and an old, washed out, hooded dressing gown which looked like something her mother had bought in M&S children's department years ago.
"You OK? They said you phoned in sick. "
He sat down on her settee. Watching her.
"Soph?"
She sat beside him; her feet under her, her head resting on the back of the settee, not looking at him.
"It's O.K. I started this morning. "
He looked at her. Her face was carefully blank.
All the bright happiness of the day trickled away.
He had a pain in his chest and he had to swallow over a lump in his throat
"So you are not going to be a father. I expect you're relieved about that." Her tone was brittle.
"Yeah." he said. "You too, I expect."
"Well of course. It was a rather irresponsible thing to do, wasn't it? Get pregnant. Not a bit sensible; no money and this flat is not really suitable for a baby."
"You had decided to keep it then?"
"Well, I still don't know. And now," she shrugged
"For the best, Soph."
"Yes."
They sat in silence with their own thoughts.
Then she said hesitantly, "Francis, you never asked if- You never said it wasn't - Never said get rid... "
"I know you, Soph."
She turned, burrowing her face into him. Her voice was muffled in his pullover.
"When I missed, I was frantic; I couldn't think what I was going to do. I didn't want to be pregnant, I was so frightened, I didn't know... Then things began to settle, to be clearer."
He realised she was crying, He slid his arm under her and lifted her onto his lap.
He held her tighter, his head resting against hers.
"When I started, the cramps were so bad; I knew I had lost... Oh Francis I wanted it. I wanted it. I didn't think I did but I know now I did. I did. "
Little sobs were jerking through her.
"Sh, Soph. Sh, sh. I know, I know... Me too. "
"I will wonder about it for the rest of my life. What it might have been like."
"Yeah."
He turned his wet face into her hair.
"Me too."